I Won’t Be The Girl Who Runs To You

I saw you, with those familiar, sparkling eyes, the deep rumble of your voice, the smirk you were never without.

You were across oceans, deserts, and storm-tossed skies, obstacles in every direction.

I saw the gleaming teeth of sharks; the parched throats of wild horses stumbling over red sand; wyverns curled beneath a lengthy dawn; other women you’d loved, with their prowling gaits and barbed words.

But you’d crook your finger and…

And what did I do?

I kicked off my shoes, and ran to you.

I was delirious, foolish, crazy.

Madly in love.

I ran to you.

You dissolved, laughing, a clever mirage.

I scarred my knees when I fell down, and I cried.

You did that.

But I did that, too.

Now, here we are again. It’s only been a few weeks – months? – but I feel like I’ve aged centuries.

Not in the way that withers my skin or cracks my smile; old, papery hands touching tarnished glass.

No.

I feel like I’ve seen lands and worlds only ever dreamt up in thick, leather-bound fantasy novels. I feel like I’ve touched the sky with my fingertips as I flew over your head – but you didn’t notice, eyes always downcast. I feel like I’ve tasted pirates’ salty lips as we battled hurricanes, danced in faerie rings unscathed, tore down kingdoms with these bare, scarred hands.

I feel like I’ve lived.

And –

There you are again.

My heart wants to fly to you.

But these feet are grounded, rooted to the earth.

I remember the tricks of water and light that made my head spin, the way you trailed your fingers over my tattoos, how I’d sink into your lips and find a dark sort of bliss and ecstasy that took me so, so very high…

Before I fell.

I remember the way you looked at me, and how you made me feel like some earthbound angel you’d like to hunt down, pinned to the ground beneath my wings.

I remember curling into you like a cat, and purring when you stroked my hair.

I also remember:

How much it hurt when you faded away.

How I fought bloody battles to forget you.

How I came away battered, a veteran home from war.

So you may appear.

Again and again.

But baby?

I won’t be the girl

who runs to you.